“I almost married his little sister,” he said almost in a whisper before gathering himself. “Have I not mentioned that I was once engaged, Annabelle?”
I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. “No, you haven’t.”
“Phoebe. The love of my life.” His smile turned from enigmatic to sad.
I was almost afraid to ask. “What happened?”
“Decided she wasn’t ready to settle down,” he said. “Left me a month before the wedding.”
“Shit.” He looked so heartbroken, not at all like the smiley, cheery man I had come to know over the past weeks. “I’m so sorry, Jim. When was this?”
“Oh, years ago now. Should be over it, honestly. But it’s… I don’t know. I guess I never quite got there.” He gave me a sheepish look. “Silly, huh?”
Without thinking, my eyes went to Rick on the other side of the limo. He was explaining something to Lucy, her eyes wide and adoring as she looked up at him. “I don’t think it’s silly at all.”
“You know the worst part?” he asked, dragging my attention back from the Rick and Lucy show. “She met someone just two months later. Went off to find herself in Italy—ended up finding a bloke instead.” He shook his head. “Next thing I knew, they were married in some Italian villa. Guess she wasn’t so scared of settling down, after all.”
His eyes seemed distant, unseeing, as he looked out the window. “You know what, Jim?” I asked, tugging his arm a bit so he would look at me. When he did, the sadness in his eyes was heartbreaking—and all too familiar. “That sucks. It really, really sucks.”
His responding grin was a lot more like him. “Damn straight.”
I laughed. “She clearly didn’t deserve you. I mean, come on. You’re a catch!”
He laughed, sticking out his admittedly round belly a little. “You know it. Can’t keep the ladies off of me.”
I snorted, slapping a hand over my mouth when Mary and Charlie turned to look at me. From the corner of my eye, I could feel Rick’s gaze on us, as well, but I refused to look up.
“Anyhow, I’m sorry to get all morose on you. I love the Harvilles, I really do. Devon is one of my best friends, really had my back after the breakup, even though it was family.”
“That sounds like a great friend.”
Jim nodded. “And his wife is great, too—Leslie. You’ll like her. She’s very genuine, really focused on her family.” I saw his eyes slide a minuscule notch to Mary. “They keep their place comfy—no pretension there. I always like a comfy house, myself.”
“Me, too,” I assured him, crossing my fingers behind my back that Mary didn’t do anything rude.
As it turned out, she didn’t get the chance. After a quick stop at the hotel to drop off our bags, we headed straight to the Harvilles. They met us on their front porch, piling out of the house in an avalanche of squeals and hugs and loud greetings. Their four children were jumping up and down, trying to get Rick and Jim to pick them up, begging for presents from Vegas, while Devon and Leslie hugged and kissed their friends and the rest of us, as well. The entire scene was so chaotic and friendly there was simply no room for Mary’s judgment.
“Come in, come in!” Devon yelled, gesturing us into the house. “You all must be tired. We have beers chilling, but I can make some drinks if you’d liked something stronger.”
“Beer sounds like heaven,” Rick said, slapping his friend on the back. I couldn’t help but notice the broad grin on his face. He was clearly more comfortable with these people than I had seen him since he set foot in Vegas. “Don’t tell me it’s that American piss-water though. I want a real beer.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Devon replied good naturedly. “There’s Guinness in there, you limey bastard.”
Somehow the entire group managed to squeeze through the front door and hallway. To the side was a small living room, nicely decorated in what I was pretty sure was Pottery Barn chic. But Leslie led us past that room and through a large, open kitchen that looked just messy enough to prove that four kids lived in the house. The kitchen opened into a much larger, more comfortable-looking family room, furnished primarily in Ikea. There were plenty of slouchy couches and oversized pillows strewn about. It looked cozy and comfy, just like Jim had said.
Devon handed out beers, and I was surprised to see even Mary take one, given that I was sure it wasn’t on her list of bikini-friendly beverages. Leslie urged us into the family room, promising she’d bring out snacks, “just as soon as I get this little monster to stop hanging on me.”
The little monster in question couldn’t have been more than three years old. She had golden ringlets—which I didn’t think I had ever actually seen outside of a storybook—and huge brown eyes that were currently darting from strange face to strange face.
“Ah, Lilly my dear,” Rick said, kneeling so he was at her eye level. “Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten your old Uncle Rick. Come on, love, give me a snuggle.”
Just like that, a smile filled her little baby features, and she released her death grip on her mother’s leg and held out her arms, allowing him to lift her up.
“Thanks, Rick,” Leslie said, planting a kiss on his cheek. “You’re a lifesaver.”
The sight of Rick, all six-four, two hundred pounds of him, making silly faces at the baby did things to my stomach that I didn’t want to think about. His face, normally so taciturn and broody, was alit was happiness for the little girl, who responded by grabbing at his cheeks and running her fingers across his ever-present stumble.
I turned away, not sure why the sight affected me so much. I saw that Lucy and Etta were also watching him. I could practically see their ovaries exploding before my very eyes.
“Beer?” Devon asked, holding out a bottle.
“God, yes,” I muttered without thinking, taking an immediate sip. Devon laughed. “Oh, you’ll fit in around here.”
“I mean, thank you.” I held out a hand to shake his. “I’m Annabelle.”
Leslie was crossing in front of me, a crudité tray in her hands. I saw her look up sharply as Devon shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Annabelle. I’m Devon.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the way Leslie was looking at me. Her eyes were practically narrowed and fixed firmly on my face. “Thank you so much for having us over,” I said, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. Devon must have seen where my eyes were darting because he turned, caught sight of his wife, and held out his hand for her to take.
“Annabelle, this is my much prettier, much better other half. Leslie, this is Annabelle.”
“Hello, Annabelle.” She took my hand warmly enough, but there was definitely something in her eyes. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
Oh, shit. My eyes immediately flew to Rick, who was now tossing Lilly into the air, making her squeal with delight. I tore my eyes from him in time to catch Leslie and Devon sharing a glance. Great. So Rick had apparently talked to them about me at some point. From the way he had reacted to me over the past few months, I couldn’t expect it had been good.
“We’re happy to have you here,” Leslie said, giving me a tight smile. “Please, find a seat.”
“Can I help you with anything?” I asked, hoping I was imagining the blush I could feel creeping up my cheeks.
“Not at all, not at all. Just relax.”
I perched on the edge of an empty couch, doing my best to pretend the last minute hadn’t happened. Leslie and Devon seemed unaffected now that they were out of direct contact with me, laughing with Jim, offering food to Mary and Charlie, drinking their own beer, and trying to herd the kids downstairs to the basement playroom. The house was noisy and chaotic but clearly a happy place. It made my heart ache. I couldn’t have said the last time I’d been in a house like this. Had I ever?
“You must be tired from the flight,” Jim said, appearing at my side with a paper plate of chips and assorted finger food in his hand. “Mind if I join you?”
/> I slid over on the couch to allow him room. “Where’s your food?” he asked, holding up his own plate.
“I haven’t had a chance to check out the goods yet,” I replied, trying to keep my voice light.
“Shall I get you a plate?”
“No, Jim, really, I’m—” but he was already up, setting his plate on the coffee table with firm instructions for Peter, a grinning small child of eight or nine, not to dare touch it or “I’ll return that gladiator set I brought you, boy, you can count on it.”
A moment later, he was back with a plate for me. “Thank you.” Leslie was across the room, but I could feel her gaze on me, so I turned more fully toward Jim to avoid it.
“Les always puts out a great spread,” he mumbled through his mouthful.
“It looks like.”
I concentrated on methodically pushing chips and celery sticks into my mouth so I wouldn’t have to look up at the hosts. Leslie’s gaze wasn’t aggressive, but there was definitely a note of distrust there. And from the way they both—Devon included—looked so adoringly at Rick, I couldn’t really blame her.
“You said you’ve known Devon since you were kids?” I asked Jim.
“Yup. Went to school together and everything,” he said. “I was actually in Greece with him when we met Rick—have you ever been?”
“Greece? Yeah. Years ago.” I felt my hands shake and clutched the plate tighter. “I haven’t been to Europe since college.”
Jim shook his head. “You really need to get back, Annabelle.”
I merely smiled, not wanting to tell him that there was a very specific reason that Europe had lost all appeal for me years ago.
“Anyhow, what was I saying?”
“How you met Rick.”
“Oh, right. Well, we met at a beach side bar in Mykonos, got drunk, and talked about our shared love of architecture.” He chuckled at the memory. “Pretty nerdy, huh? And then Devon met Leslie there while she was backpacking through the country and fell head over heels. He followed her right back here while Rick and I bummed around Europe.”
I swallowed. “When, uh, was that? When you met Rick in Greece, I mean.”
Jim scrunched up his face, considering. “Oh, must have been about ten years now. We were…twenty-three? Twenty-four? Something like that.”
That would have been right after he left Detroit. “What was he like?” I asked, my gaze going automatically to the man in question. He was leaning against the kitchen counter talking to Leslie and Devon, holding Lilly propped on his hip as she happily sucked on an apple slice, oblivious to the juice stains she was leaving down his shirt.
“He was a bit of a whiner,” Jim said, laughing. “Apparently, he’d just had some awful breakup. The girl really did a number on him, far as I could tell. He spent most of the first month face down at a bar, drunk off his head.”
I stood suddenly, nearly upending the plate of appetizers in my hand. “Annabelle?” Jim asked, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I murmured, feeling breathless. My entire chest felt like it was constricting painfully. I could see it so clearly—Rick, the way he had been then, tall and gangly, drunk and sad. Had I done that to him?
But he left me!
“I just…need a refill,” I held up my nearly empty beer bottle, waving Jim away when he made like he was going to get it for me. I took two steps before realizing that the beer cooler was in the kitchen, and I would have to pass Rick to get to it. Before I could decide what to do, Leslie saved me.
“I think dinner is about ready. I thought we’d eat outside.”
She passed Rick a large, yellow bowl filled with some kind of salad, which he balanced without disturbing Lilly. “Take that out please, hon.”
He rolled his eyes at her, grinning. “First you pass your kid off on me, now you expect me to be your waiter. I’m so glad I came.”
“You bet your ass you are,” Leslie replied, smacking his shoulder. Lilly squealed and pointed. “Mommy swear!”
“She’s a very bad mummy, isn’t she?” Rick asked the little girl in serious tones as he stepped through the French doors out onto the patio.
“Here, Jim,” Leslie called from the kitchen. “Grab some silverware.”
I followed him into the kitchen, grabbing a stack of plastic plates from the counter. “Thank you, Annabelle,” Leslie said, her voice slightly warmer than before.
I grabbed another beer on my way out and joined the rest of the group outside on the patio. Night was starting to fall, and Devon had lit tiki torches around the sides of the patio. White flickering lights had been strung through the pergola, giving a festive vibe to the set up. I could see Mary looking around, as if uncertain how to respond to these paper-plate-serving, Christmas-light-decorating people. I saw Rick watching her, as well. Without thinking, I caught his eye and rolled mine. He smiled before seeming to catch himself, then turned away.
I plopped into the nearest chair, suddenly exhausted and more than a little irritated. So he had told Leslie and Devon about our breakup, clearly painting me as the bad guy, and then had brought me here where they could all judge and glare at me all night. And when I dared try to lighten things a little, he couldn’t even bear to offer me a little smile.
I took a long gulp of the beer, wishing I had taken Devon up on his offer for something stronger. I had a feeling I was going to need it before long.
To my dismay, Mary took the seat to my left, immediately leaning in to whisper about the paper plates. “When Jim said a dinner party, I assumed there would at least be flatware.”
“Who cares, Mary? It’s okay to be casual every once in a while.”
She huffed something noncommittal, leaning back in her seat. Luckily, Jim took the seat on my other side, preventing me from having to suffer with only Mary for conversation.
Devon served grilled chicken from a large gas grill on the patio while Leslie encouraged us all to pass the bowls of pasta salad, rosemary potatoes, and fruit between us while simultaneously opening a bottle of wine and slapping away the hands of her oldest when he reached for it.
Moments later, conversation and laughter flowed thought the back yard along with the wine into our glasses. I gulped the rest of my beer quickly so I could enjoy the Chardonnay, ignoring the fact that I was already feeling slightly tipsy. It had been a while since I’d had more than a glass of wine at dinner.
“So how did you all meet?” Lucy asked Leslie, all smiles. “Rick said something about Greece?”
“Greece,” Devon said dreamily. “We really should get back there, dear.”
“I want to go to Greece!” the oldest son cried, tugging on his mom’s arm.
“Guess you better get a job and pay your own way then,” she told him, tugging his ear and making him giggle. “Yes,” she said to Lucy. “It was Greece. Jim and Devon were backpacking through the Mediterranean when they met up with Rick—where was it?”
“That dive bar in Mykonos,” Jim said, smiling.
“Where they served two-dollar pitchers,” Devon added. “God, I’ve never drank so much.”
“Yes, well, that’s how we bonded,” Rick said, laughing. “It was beer that brought us together, mates.”
“And through beer, we remain united,” Devon added, raising his bottle to laughs around the table.
“We planned to spend the fall island hopping,” Jim went on. “But then someone had to come along and ruin the fun.”
Leslie snorted. “As if. I couldn’t stand the sight of any of you. I was on the first ferry to Tinos as soon as I met these losers.” She winked at Devon. “It wasn’t my fault he ditched you to follow me.”
“Did you really?” Etta asked, eyes wide. “That’s so romantic.”
“I did,” Devon replied, smiling at his wife. “I was smitten, what can I say.”
“And how long did it take for her to actually talk to you?” Rick asked.
“Oh, weeks,” Devon said, and we all laughed. “Where was it, Crete?”
“That sounds about right,” Leslie said, playing with the stem of her wine glass. “I couldn’t take the incessant begging anymore, so I agreed to go on a date with him.”
“And I took you to that seafood place where you found the bug in your soup.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I was swept away immediately.”
I found myself joining in the laughter at the table. It was hard not to get caught up in their stories. They all laughed and teased so easily. It couldn’t have been clearer that the Harvilles were very much in love, for all of their little jabs. And one quick look between the friends showed that they were crazy about Rick and Jim.
“And what about you, Rick,” Lucy asked. “Why were you in Greece?”
His eyes flicked down the table in my direction. “I guess I was sowing my wild oats.”
Lucy and Etta giggled while Jim snorted into his wine. “Oh, as if. You were like a monk in those days.” He turned his attention to Lucy. “You should have seen the way girls threw themselves at him back then. Though God only knows why, whiney string bean that he was.”
Rick grinned at the laughing that followed, but I thought I saw a certain tightness in his eyes.
“I can’t picture you as a monk,” Lucy said, her tone clearly flirtatious. “I don’t believe it for a second.”
“Oh, believe it,” Jim said. “He never looked twice at any of the girls.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Leslie glance quickly in my direction before turning away. I stared down at my plate, wishing that someone, anyone, would change the subject.
“It’s true, I’m afraid,” Rick said. I couldn’t read his tone, and I didn’t dare to look at him. “I was off girls quite thoroughly at that time.”
“Why?” Lucy asked, as if inquiring about a great tragedy against her gender. All those poor girls who would never get the chance to flirt with Rick Wentworth.
“I guess I just felt like I couldn’t trust anyone at that age. My experience with girls after university had been…less than ideal.”
My wine glass slipped through my hands with a clatter. Had I left more than a half a gulp in it, I would have made a huge mess. As it was, Leslie jumped up to help me mop at the little wet stain while I apologized profusely for her tablecloth.
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